Failure to Appear
by erynis
Summary: Stephanie Plum is just doing what comes naturally: dodging bullets, her boss and taxcollectors while kicking criminal butt on a regular basis, with her own partners in crime, Lula, Ranger and occasionally Morelli. Until... Full summary inside.
1. FTA DOA

**Full-(er) summary****: -- **_Set after book 13 specifically, but generally could be anywhere in the Plum timeline.--_** Stephanie Plum is just doing what comes naturally: dodging bullets, her boss and tax-collectors; while kicking criminal butt on a regular basis, with her own partners in crime, Lula, Ranger and occasionally Morelli. Until a series of events and mistaken identities leads to Steph ending up on the wrong of the cold prison bars. So who's going to bail out to bail-hunter? And what happens when an unknown stranger makes her choose between Morelli and Ranger: forever? What car will she totally destroy this time? What building and/or person will she blow up? Will her eyebrows be another casualty in the messed-up world of Stephanie Plum? Babe and Cupcake until Steph makes her decision; if she ever can. Action, Adventure, Humour. Will be relations (ie fluff and smut) eventually, but this story does have a plot too. Sort of. Kinda. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here. **

**Warning: These first few paragraphs contain death. If it worries you in any way, I don't know, skim read over it or something. Why you'd be reading a crime-style series of books in the first place if death made you nervous, I don't know. Rated for mature concepts: language, sexual tension yada-yada. **

**Oops, forgot: I don't own these characters. I'll think of a more witty disclaimer later.**

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FTA Maree Constanovich was a very attractive woman for her thirty-one years. Deep olive skin, tawny almond eyes of liquid-gold and eyelashes so dark and long she never had the need for mascara, much to the envy of her female neighbours. She kept her perennial tan bathing nude in her outdoor heated pool, much to the delight of her male neighbours. A single mother to her five-year-old son, she supported him from a business run in her own home. It was a very successful, ludicrous business, but then again, she was both a professional and a specialist, so success naturally followed. Her specialty included pole-dancing, exotic dancing – and even a few steps further for the right customer. Yes, Maree was a very attractive, very successful woman. 

I might have felt threatened, but I had one thing Maree didn't. A pulse. In death, Maree's ability to attract the attention of every male within a fifty-foot radius was for a totally different story. Death was not a style that sat well on Maree Constanovich. It seemed Ms Maree had been bathing in her pool when it happened. Several weeks later she was found, still bathing in her pool. And by that stage her skin was well and truly past the wrinkled prune stage. After 23 days of continuous sunbathing in 37 degree heat, her tan was a lot deeper than olive.

I wrinkled my nose at the body slowly drifting and decomposing in the pool, morbidly surrounded by bright inflatable children's toys. A rookie police officer tentatively prodded a beach-ball with his polished shoe in detached shock, sending it bobbing cheerfully in Maree's rotting corpse. Softened by the soaking, her arm detached and slowly sunk to the bottom of the pool, shedding clumps of flesh as it lazily descended.

"Do that again and you'll be the one fishing her out," Joseph Morelli snapped, jerking the rookie out of his reverie with a jolt.  
"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." The horrified expression on his face told him that for the rest of the afternoon he'd be steering well clear of the pool-side. I hid a smile and instead greeted Joe with a recently-waxed, well-shaped raised eyebrow.  
"What brings you here, cupcake?" Morelli asked as he shoved his way through the overall-ed forensics teams and the dark suited FBI. Wordlessly I handed him a small, blurry Polaroid, snatched from one of the many manila file folders sprawled around the backseat of my new VW Bug. Morelli glanced from the photo to the corpse lazing in the pool.  
"FTA?"  
"When they say I can bring them back dead or alive, how literal do you think they were being?"  
"Jesus Steph. If you need money that badly, I'll happily sign over this week's pay."  
"It's not that I need any cash that desperately," – if I wanted to actually keep my car and my apartment at the same time – "but a bonded Maree would be worth exactly as much as a wide screen TV." Morelli just sighed.

We both turned and watched as a forensics diver in a wetsuit wrestled with the Creepy-Crawly pool cleaner for what appeared to be either one hell of a clump of clogged hair, or a portion of Maree's skull-cap.  
"Could I just borrow that for like - "  
"- It's evidence." Morelli shot back. Damn. Probably Connie wouldn't take too kindly to me slapping down half of Maree's head on her desk and claiming the finder's fee anyway. It was worth a try though.  
"Why didn't any of the neighbours notice Maree's prolonged frolicking in the pool?" Morelli shrugged and pointed above my head.  
"Shade-cloth. Just had it installed, much to the neighbours disappointment." I raised my other eyebrow. "It seemed Maree made a habit of bathing nude, gardening nude and mowing the lawn nude. Wish I had neighbours like her." He looked at me suggestively. Joe is my on-again, off-again, sort-of boyfriend. The fact he was thinking about sex while looking at a decomposing corpse sort of hinted at the current status of our relationship. I chose to ignore his last comment and continued questioning.  
"Now, I'm no expert on corpses," Morelli snorted in amusement, "But is that how one's supposed to look?"  
Morelli screwed up his face. "Well, floaters are never a pretty sight, but CSI's recorded water temp as 37 degrees, so it looks like someone jacked up the thermostat after killing her."  
"So it's a murder."  
"Looks like it."

Gosh gee. Just in case my life was meandering down the path of boredom, with all these rotting corpses and all, they throw in a few murder plots to spice it up. But as a testimony to how screwed up my life was becoming, even these gory scenario's were becoming more and more common-place in Stephanie Plums little world of gang violence, drug dealers and criminal activity. I don't know if this meant I was doing a great job at becoming a hardened bounty-hunter, or doing a lousy job at being a normal member of society. In my mind I was trying to be all Zen and calm about everything that happened to me. This week I resolved to freak out a lot less and just go with the flow. A bit like Ranger. So I suppose I really was losing my touch with the rest of decent society. I had crossed over to the dark side.

Morelli snaked two hands around my waist and laid them flat on my stomach.  
"So cupcake," he whispered into my neck, "Do I need to guard your body tonight?"  
I stepped out of his grasp, "God Morelli. Only you could make a pass while staring at a decaying body." I didn't mention how tempted I was to take him up on the offer.


	2. TMI

**Next chapter: Stephanie gets kidnapped. Just thought I'd piqué your interest now, seeing as this chapter's mainly dialogue. **

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Connie glanced up at me in that kind of fleeting summary only receptionists can pull off.

"Hnnn. It's you." She stated, surreptitiously placing something in the top draw and closing it. I know what Connie keeps in the top draw. It's what every person in Trenton keeps in their top draw if they're the closest person between an office door fronting onto the main street and the money till. A gun.

"What's going – hnkkk!" Suddenly I was flying through the air, crash-tackled by something resembling an elephant in a pink velour track-suit.

"Shit!" Connie exclaimed. "I forgot to say the safe word. It's okay Lula, it's Stephanie."

300 pounds of Lula slowly clambered off me. I was too winded to say anything. "Hmph" Lula grunted. "Well, I know that now."

"Where….where did you come from?" I manage to wheeze from the floor. Lula pointed to the fake-leather couch.

"Hid behind that."

"Have you lost weight?" Connie asked as I slowly pulled myself into a standing position.

"Damn skippy." Lula beamed. "It's Tank. He got me doing all sorts of energetic things."

"Too much information." Connie retorted.

"You're just jealous you're not getting any with the old man since his slipped a disc trying out a new move you learnt in Cosmo."

"Who told you that!" Connie screeched. Unconsciously her fingers inched towards the gun drawer.

"Honey, the whole town knows it. Norma the Gossip nurse was on duty at the hospital when you brought him in."

Connie set her jaw, pulled out her pocket mirror and fluffed her hair. "Right." She growled, shoved herself out of her roller-office chair and stormed out of the room, no doubt to have a serious chat with Norma the Nurse. I was thinking it was a good thing Norma was already at the hospital, by the time Connie got through with her. Connie doesn't leave her desk for any old thing. The last time she left work before her lunch-break was when Macys was advertising 70 off shoes. "Watch the office for me!" Connie called before her preppy sports car squealed out of the lot.

"Hnn." Lula managed. "Watch the office my sweet arse."

"Well, I'd love to stay, but I have FTA's to catch." I state in a business-like tone, collecting my pocketbook from the ground. The last thing I want to do is get stuck watching the office. I'd rather track down the scum of society than be the only person in the shop apart from Vinnie. Ugh.

"Like hell." Lula snapped, following me out of the door and stuffing herself into the passenger side of my Bug. My poor little Bug's suspension dropped a few inches and it leaned to the right noticeably. Lula chose to ignore it. "You got nothing better to do with your time. You dragged your arse back here because you didn't find Maree Constan-who-vick."

I angled into my car, relishing the new-car smell it still had. I bought it second-hand, but I liked to kid myself. Plums are good at denial. As a tribute to how much I loved my new car, there wasn't a burger wrapper to be found anywhere within the Bug's interior. From now on, I wasn't going to sully my car with any junk food leftovers.

"Next car you buy, you need to be factoring me more into your considerations. This here's no respectable car for me to be seen in. This here is more like a clown car. And you know what? It smells too."

"My car smells?" I squeak in a hurt voice. I loved my car. For once I had a car that was almost brand new, with four tyres, air-conditioning, remote central locking and the added bonus of no bullet-holes or bloodstains. That I could see, anyway.

"Your car smells like new-car smell. It's overpowering and offensive."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" I blast my horn at the white bomb in front of me, and the old man driver jerks it forward in second gear.

"I think we need to overpower this here offensive smell with another, more pleasing smell."

"Like what kind of smell? I have a pine-tree air-freshener already." It came free with the car, otherwise I'd never fritter my hard-earned cash away on such trivialities such as pine-tree shaped air-fresheners. I'd buy beer and doughnuts instead.

"What this here car needs is a lived-in smell. An inviting smell that makes you feel at home. I think a dozen doughnuts would make it smell just fine. I'd want to come back to anyplace that smells of cinnamon doughnut."

We were on our second doughnut when I spoke. "Actually, I did find Maree Constanovich. But somebody already found her first. She'd been dead about a month."

Lula grimaced. "How long she been FTA, if she was whacked a month ago?"

"About a month." I sighed. Lula looked at me.

"Getting a bit behind on all that bounty-huntering hey?"

As much as I hated to admit it, I was falling behind. Ranger was away for a couple of weeks on Rangeman business, which I suspected had a lot to do with a military coup over in Cuba. I was too tired to tackle the bigger felon's Ranger usually tracked and was sticking to the small-time criminals and repeat offenders whose habits and whereabouts I knew. I didn't have enough time or manpower to invest hours of recon work tracking down a serial killer that didn't want to be found. I was willing them all to flee the country and take the next plane to Cuba, where Ranger could deal with them.

"Well, this here appears to me like you need some serious backup to help you catch the bad-guys."

"If you tackle any FTA's like you tackled me before, we'll be back in business." I agree. "Why did you tackle me before?"

"Some crazy guy after Vinnie stormed in this morning with a gun. Connie told him he was still out boinking Laurent Zimmerman's goat and wouldn't be back until noon, so the guy left."

"So we just left Vinnie by himself at the Bonding Office?"

"Hell yes. We already saved his sorry arse once this morning." Lula waved her doughnut around animatedly, spilling sugar-frosting and cinnamon beads over the console. I winced. "Let me tell you, tackling crazies with guns and protecting my boss's greasy ass was never in my job description." She took a massive bite of her doughnut to support her statement. "Besides, that man been in enough trouble to know when to show his slimy head and when to vanish."

**That chapter was difficult: Lula is just so surreal and out there – she's a very difficult character to write. I hope I got her in character… Next chapter: action. Stephanie gets herself in trouble like only Stephanie Plum can. Explosions may eventuate, although I make no promises :)**


	3. MIA

**Long chapter: to keep your interest - quick spoiler: Stephanie gets herself _kidnapped. _(And it's only the third chapter, I know: woah, slow down girl.) Next chapter she blows something up. Stephanie Plum moves fast. **

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After my run in with Maree that morning, I decided to give up on bounty huntering for the day. That was the good thing about semi-self-employment; I worked the hours I wanted. Or more correctly, I worked when I needed the money. Which was practically every day ending with a 'y'. 

But even so, I definitely wasn't going to go back to the bonds office to collect anymore fresh files on FTA's for fear of running into the crazy guy with a gun headhunting Vinnie. I decided it was best to avoid crazy, gun wielding psychopaths for the time being. Unless of course, the crazy gun guy was FTA. Then I'd have to track him down too. I sighed. It's time like these I really miss Ranger. Well, I was also missing Ranger for a whole lot of other reasons not to do with catching felons either.

I got home to an empty house and an even emptier fridge. One of the good things about being in the 'on' stage of my relationship with Morelli was that he moonlighted as the fridge fairy. No Morelli, no food. I dropped a hamster nugget for Rex to gnaw on and checked my phone messages. One new message. Hot diggety. It was from Ranger.

"Two days Babe." That was it. I took it to mean he would back in the country the day after tomorrow. My heart lifted slightly. Ranger wouldn't fill my fridge with cake, but he'd satisfy other hungers.

I searched around the cupboards and came up with a half-packet of stale dog biscuits from when Bob still lived with me, and a bowl full of rat pellets. Bob regularly ate anything that did, didn't, might have and may one day move, but even he would have passed on those dog biscuits. And my situation wasn't desperate enough to call for the rat poison. So I did what I always did when the food ran out. I opened the freezer and ate the ice from the sides.

By nine o'clock at night my stomach had decided it wasn't to be fooled and was transmitting hunger pains again. I ransacked the house for loose change or something valuable enough to barter for food. After searching underneath the washing machine, the clothesline, the pen holder and between the cushions of the couch I came up with $7.55. It's was fate. Enough for a pizza at Pino's. 

Mmmm, Pinos. I waltzed into the room, savouring the pizza and garlic bread smells and the chrome-edged American diner-style. The jukebox was playing something like _Sweet Home Alabama_ or some other Lynyrd Skynyrd song. I leaned up against the counter, ignoring Morelli who was seated close by in a booth.

"Can I help you at all?" The counter guy with a wonkily pinned name badge reading "Stan" asked monotonously. I nodded towards the tip jar.  
"That's a lot of shrapnel you've got there." I remark. Stan perks up and his eyes go wide. In Pino's, those are fighting words. I can almost hear the Western shoot-up music.  
"May I take your order?" He asks eagerly, sending a Look over his shoulder to the guys working the ovens. He knows what I'm after. He's seen it in my eyes. The look of the condemned. The look of the hungry. The look of the deranged.  
"One Dare pizza, thick crust." I order in a resigned voice. Whoops erupt from behind the counter and inside the eatery. Luke the Topping Man gets extremely excited. From my position at the counter I see him eagerly set out his weapons, one by one. Garlic powder, onion powder, anchovies, salmon, all flavours of cheese, herbs and spices, meats, chickens and what looks like calamari. There's every vegetable and fruit known to man-kind, and some mutant-variety lab-tests previously unknown to the general populous as well. I turn my back and find a booth as soon as Luke rolls up his sleeves and pulls on his gas mask. This is where things start to get serious.

I observe the room décor intently, careful to look anywhere but the pizza ovens. I hear Luke singing. _Singing_. He hasn't sung since Akeam Marcaway ordered a Dare pizza and got shuttled off in an Ambulance. Luke just said he thought perhaps the lid flew off the chilli-powder shaker and Akeam's pizza must have been just a tad bit hotter than he expected.

Morelli slides in next to me. "Dare pizza?" He asks incredulously.  
"My treat." I reply.  
"I think I'll pass. No food in the house?" He asks. He didn't make another offer to move in with me, so I'm guessing he was planning to stay here and watch the show. "I'll have the ambulance on stand-by."

Perhaps I should explain the Dare pizza. It's a tradition. It's actually a way to make money and get famous in the Burg. You eat a Pino's Dare pizza, you get a hundred bucks, plus whatever's in the tip-jar. Eating a Dare pizza's like winning a prestigious and highly coveted prize. You also get your name on their wall of fame. I believe every manager of any all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant regularly walks into Pinos and checks this wall. If you're on Pino's wall of fame, you don't get to eat in any more all-you-can-eat buffets. Small loss.

My pizza arrives, served by all the staff of Pino's, including Luigi Pino himself. I look at it. It looks like an explosion. I can see whole chilli's, anchovies, calamari, pepperoni, eggplant, pork crackling and what looks like seaweed.

Half-an-hour later I pushed my chair back in satisfaction. I was full. What's more, the pizza was finished. The whole of Pino's looked at me in awe, except for Morelli, who was shifting between amusement and moderate disgust.

"I don't know whether to be sick or proud." Morelli shook his head. "It was like watching the predator devour the alien in one of those horror movies. You got some squid ink in the corner of your mouth." He teased. I narrowed my eyes at him. He was saved by his pager trilling at his waist. He studied the readout. Moments later he shrugged into his jacket.  
"The Maree Constanovich case?" I questioned while delicately dabbing at the corners of my mouth with a paper napkin.  
"Yeah." Morelli pushed his chair in. "She's already been dead a month, so we have to move quickly on these kinds of cases before the trail goes colder than it already is."

Morelli left Pino's as I made my way to the front counter. Stan was still there. He looked at me nervously, making sure he placed the cash register between me and him. Probably he was afraid the pizza was going to burst out of my stomach like what happened on that Alien Versus Predator movie.

"I'm finished. Can I collect my money?"  
Stan looked nervously over his shoulder. "I've been told to tell you we can't give you the money."  
I narrowed my eyes at him. I know Stan was just telling me the orders he'd been given, but I ate the pizza fair and square. "And why won't he give me my money?" I demanded. Stan visibly trembled and sweat broke on his pimpled brow.

"The boss thinks you had outside help. He said a skinny thing like you couldn't possibly eat a whole pizza, let alone a Dare pizza. And-please-don't-shoot-me." He cringed. I know the boss, Luigi Pino, and he knows me by reputation. Hell, apart from the cops, I'm probably his most regular customer. There was definitely something going on here.  
"I want to talk to Luigi." I demanded. Stan looked relieved and scampered out back to fetch his manager.

"What? I don't want to talk to her!" came the bellow from out back, "She's crazy! She'll probably shoot me in the foot. Or worse! You were supposed to deal with her. I told you to send her away. You're fired!" I felt bad for Stan, but he didn't want to be working for a guy like Pino. I think Pino had mob connections, so it was probably better for Stan's future well-being if he quit the job anyway. Seconds later Stan slunk past me, looking shaken but relieved not to have to serve the line of customers building up behind me.

Luigi Pino materialized at the counter, unaware his voice had carried from out the back of the store.

"Crazy hey?" I narrowed my eyes. Luigi's face fell. His eyes darted around the busy store, and the crowd that had gathered behind me. Probably he was wondering if I'd shoot him in front of all these witnesses.  
"Perhaps we can talk about this some other time." He pleaded.  
"Look Luigi, I need that money. It's my money, and it's rent day tomorrow." Luigi nervously ran his fingers through his moustache.  
"Ms Plum. Ordinarily I'd give you the money no problems. But you see, I was playing poker with the guys yesterday and you know how it is…" His eyes begged me.

I shot him a cold stare. "I don't gamble." Mainly because I have no money to gamble with. Apparently if you're a good gambler this is a trivial point, but I'm not a good gambler. I never really got the hang of the poker-face. Now, if this was any other man, I'd probably let him off the hook. But I happen to know Luigi Pino makes good money from his Pino's Pizzeria business, and even better money from his businesses on the side. If push came to shove, he could easily forgo $100. I couldn't.

Luigi's eyes scanned the impatient crowd again.

"Give the lady her damn money!" Someone in the line called out.  
"Okay, okay, okay." Luigi gave in. "Stubborn crazy girl. Come with me out the back and we'll sort it out."

I followed Luigi's large frame, dodging past the steaming pizza oven and the open deep fryer vats, fighting to repress a shudder. I'd had enough of that smell from when I worked at Cluck-in-a-Bucket. Even if it had only been for one night.

Luigi led me to the industrial size freezer. "I do all my business transactions in here," He confided, pointing to the closed-circuit camera encased in their tinted bubbles, strategically placed at various corners of the ceilings. "Only place where there are no bloody cameras. And this is the one place I can hide my money, and no-one steals it from me." He yanked open the heavy insulated door and I knew why no-one came into the freezer of their own free will. The freezer was stacked high and littered with cardboard boxes full of frozen meatballs, pizza toppings, dough and who-knows what else. It was also colder than a polar-bear's behind. I stepped delicately over the half-hazzardly arranged boxes, trying not to slip over on the ice-slick gathering at various areas on the floor.

"Would you mind turning around? I don't want you to see where I keep my money." Luigi requested in a mistrustful voice. I just rolled my eyes and turned my back on him. Which, in hindsight, was a very stupid thing to do. It was all Luigi had to do to carefully line up the back of my head with a frozen salami sausage and swing. I walked right into his trap like a lamb to the slaughter.


	4. AWOL

**Disclaimer (has retrospective effect for those chapter's I missed): I own nothing. And thanks to my beautiful reviewers who will recieve wonderful Karma this week in return for their good deeds :)**

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I woke up freezing. This was no surprise, as I was still lying on the floor in the industrial freezer at Pino's. I staggered to my feet, sinking to my knees at one stage when I slipped on some ice. I straightened and then promptly threw up most of my Dare pizza. I hope that takes him a while to clean up, I thought savagely. I banged on the solid freezer door in annoyance. Surely someone working out the back had to walk past and hear me. I thought of the noisy hissing and popping of the fryer vats, the screaming orders from the front counter and the general hubbub of the Pino's. Okay, so probably no-one would hear me. Surely when they closed the shop for the night they'd take inventory or something. I looked at my watch. It was ten past ten. Pino's didn't close until half-past eleven, and by then I'd be a human popsicle. I sat on a box and took a few seconds to review my options before I panicked. I'd been in worse situations. I'd been locked in much smaller, much more claustrophobia-inducing prisons. On the downside, it had never been at freezing point. I think it was Karma; what comes around goes around. Or, as a Christian-ish woman from a good Catholic family, I could blame God. God was punishing me for locking Morelli in Sal's freezer-truck the first time I became a bounty hunter.

As far as I saw it, the only good thing about being stuck in the freezer was that in Luigi's hurry to serve the impatient customers out front, he hadn't even bothered to take away my pocketbook from me. Although I doubted Luigi wanted me dead, if I spent another hour in here I'd be blue and frozen solid. I rummaged through my bag until I found my phone. No signal. It appeared the freezer insulation was too thick to get reception. Ranger still had his tracker on me, but I wasn't sure if it was transmitting through the insulted freezer walls. Even if it was, I was still at Pinos. I ate at Pino's almost every week, so it wasn't really a location that would have Tank and the guys flashing the alarm lights. I had only one option left. I captured a few bullets rolling around in the bottom of my bag and loaded them into my gun. I was thankful that for once I'd bought it with me.

I thought back to all those late-night cop movies where they shoot the lock off a closed door. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, channeled my inner gun-man and squeezed off a few rounds at the insulated door. I opened my eyes several heart-beats later, glad no ricocheting bullets had put a few holes in me. I inspected my handiwork: a few small dents in the steel. One bullet managed to pierce through the metal, but it only showed a layer of insulation and more steel. It had also made one hell of an echo inside the freezer. I gave up on that idea and for the next few minutes killed time and vented frustration by kicking a few boxes around in annoyance. But seeing as they were fairly frozen, that didn't really help me much either. I looked around the room to see if there was anything that could help me escape. There wasn't even an emergency door-release or alarm, which definitely breached workplace health and safety laws. Pino's also had cockroaches the size of rats, so I doubted Luigi was that concerned about following rules.

There was a stainless steel bin in one corner of the room, which upon closer inspection was an ice- maker. I huddled behind that for a while, trying to escape the chilly blast of the massive freezer that took up the length of the wall on the other side. Sitting next to an ice-maker didn't really help warm me, and in desperation I pumped my remaining bullets into the freezer, hoping to disable it from producing the snowflakes that were floating around the room.

Sparks immediately begun to jump from the freezer. Hot diggety. I heard the phoomph of the sparks landing on the cardboard boxes and igniting. I decided this wasn't part of the plan and hid behind the ice-machine again in denial, hoping it would all go away. I was very good at this kind of thing. I think I inherited it from my mother. A few seconds later I poked my head around the corner of the ice-maker. The fire had spread up the piles of stacked boxes. On the plus side, the room was getting warmer, and I wasn't going to freeze to death. On the down side, the room was also filling with thick, acrid smoke, so it looked like ironically I was going to suffocate to death instead of freeze. My eyes were stinging and my chest was heaving within minutes of the fire starting.

Suddenly a box exploded with a massive "BOOMPH" to rival Guy Fawkes Day. I ducked my head behind the ice-maker again. Almost immediately, the room seemed to explode with pings and zings. It sounded as if there was a party of machine-gunners inside the freezer, playing tag with their ammo. I felt several bullets slam into the ice maker, and I was suddenly glad for its presence. Eventually the ricochets ended. The smoke was still building, causing me to choke and gag and cough. I cautiously peeped my head around the corner of the ice machine. I tip-toed over the spent bullet casting and tentatively prodded several of the blown-apart boxes. It seems like Luigi Pino didn't store his frozen goods here at all. Pino's freezer was where he stored his stolen guns and ammo.

The fire was still smouldering over the carcasses of the cardboard boxes, but for some reason the smoke was clearing. I could see some boxes looked untouched by the flames, and I didn't want to risk another explosion. Luckily for me, the first explosion had blown a hole clean through the industrial freezer lining, which would explain the disappearing smoke. I walked straight out of the back of the freezer and into the clean, fresh air of what turned out to be the alleyway behind Pino's. I walked to my little VW Bug and drove away, almost completely unscathed. I heard the staff and customers shrieking as the black smoke billowed into the main eating area. Halfway to my apartment I realised I'd left without my money. I thunked my head on the steering wheel, debated turning back, and then discovered my fuel-gauge was low. Damn. Tomorrow, I told myself. I'd go back tomorrow. I took a shower and scrubbed as much smoke and other black soot off me as I could. I stepped out of the shower and wiping the fog off the bathroom mirror I took inventory of myself. On the plus side, I hadn't lost any eyebrows in this explosion. I felt momentarily buoyed. I had blown something up, but my eyebrows were pristine. I looked like a chimney sweep and coughed like I had the black lung, but I had no cosmetic damage, and that was all that mattered in the Burg.

* * *

**Woo-hoo Steph escapes. Next chapter: Steph blows something up. Wait, I think she did that in this chapter as well. Okay, new hook. Steph sees the life from the wrong side of the prison bars. Am I making these chapters up as I go along? You betcha. **


	5. AO

I was awakened the next morning by the Italian version of the Spanish Inquisition.

"Cupcake, I leave you alone for two minutes and what happens? You blow up a restaurant. And not just any old restaurant – Pinos! Of all the restaurant's you could have blown up, you chose Pinos? Pinos! Where am I going to get a meatball sub from now? How do these things happen to you?" Morelli was on the phone, so I couldn't see him flailing his arms, but I heard the sound of whistling air even over the wire, so I took it he was doing the Italian thing.

I immediately felt defensive. I hadn't exactly been sitting in that freezer having a private picnic – I ran a large risk of losing extremities to frostbite, but Morelli calls me up at 6am to blame me for the loss of a sandwich.

"Are you forgetting I was kidnapped and held against my will, in sub zero temperatures? That amounts to torture. Hell, a good lawyer could work that up to attempted manslaughter. And Luigi wasn't exactly a saint – he's harboring illegal and most probably stolen munitions. And he cheated me out of $100." I added in a sulky voice.

"Feel free to come down to the station to file a report. I wouldn't mind if you blew that up – I've needed a day off for weeks." Morelli was joking, but I was already wound up.

"I was just going for pizza, like every other normal suburban person from Jersey does on a Friday night!" I shrieked, my voice rising a few octaves. Now it was my turn to do the Italian thing and wave my arms around in exasperation.

"Cupcake, did it ever occur to you that perhaps if you gave up working for Vinnie, these _accidents _might stop occuring?"  
"Joe, I was out for pizza! I was off-duty. Luigi Pino and his pizzas were not FTA. These things would still happen to me, whether I was a bounty hunter or not."  
Morelli sighed a resigned sigh."How are the eyebrows?" I could hear his grin over the phone.  
"Fine!" I slammed the phone down.

Morelli had gotten me all worked up – there was no way I could go back to sleep in this amount of rage. I showered, brushed my hair and coated on mascara viciously, poking myself in the eye and swearing like a sailor. I gave up on the makeup. I said goodbye to Rex and slammed my door shut. I squealed out of the car-park with as much anger as my preppy pink Bug could manage. There was only one thing to do when I was this angry – take it out on some FTA's.

I flipped open a file on the passenger seat with one hand while using my other hand to blast my horn at a bicyclist. Here was one: Warren Peedlehopper. Age 19. Wanted for suspected computer hacking. Low bond – $3000; $300 for me. Hans Hausich, age 33. Jumped bond after being cited for driving under the influence and reckless driving. He had misjudged a corner and flown into someone's back swimming pool. Thinking of swimming pools reminded me again of Maree Constanovich and I shuddered. His bond was set at a more reasonable $10,000. $1000 for me. Lacey Cage and Rick Holly, both cited for indecent exposure and public nuisance. Both were 17. Roughly translated it meant they were caught playing hide-the-liverwurst at the cinemas. $500 each went to me if I brought them in.

I decided on the computer hacker's place first. No doubt he'd been up all night playing a Halo marathon or having a LAN party or whatever unhealthy thing hackers do. Busting in on him at 6 o'clock in the morning would probably be the best form of attack, get him while he's down; all those metaphors. He had no listed job, and had his computer system up for bond. So no doubt wherever I could find his computers, I'd find Warren, protectively guarding it.

It appears computer hacking doesn't pay well. Warren Peedlehopper lived on the worse end of Stark Street, right near the industrial estates. Warren's house was more a fibro-shack, his garden was packed earth, and his front door was a wooden frame with tatters of fly-screen stretched over it. The fly-screen's hinges were rusted and the door was a loose fit against the door-frame. I knocked half-heartedly on it a few times, my pepper-spray ready in my other hand. I wasn't in the mood to talk – today I was just going to spray 'em, cuff 'em, and bond 'em.

I couldn't see the blue glow of a computer or TV screen lighting up the dark room inside, so I figured so far everything was going to plan. Warren didn't answer the door, and after a few more raps, I was getting annoyed again. I gave it one sharp shove and the hinges completely disintegrated. The door crashed forward, and immediately the house sprang to action. It seems Warren _had_ hosted a LAN party the night before, and several people in ratty pajama's with Cheez-Doodle stains around their mouths stumbled into the hallway. I saw Warren in the fray, and I also saw I few other people I recognised. Lacey, Rick and Hans; it was like killing four birds with one stone. I didn't know why four of my FTA's were conveniently in the same place at the same time, and frankly I didn't want to know. Smart Stephanie followed the saying "Never trust offerings on silver platters." Dumb Stephanie believed that "Ignorance was bliss" and everything was solved with cake. Dumb Stephanie was also going to be Rich Stephanie if she bonded all these FTA's, so I went with Dumb Stephanie. Nobody likes a wiseass anyway.

"Woah lady," Warren mumbled, taking in my un-made-up face and unruly hair, "Whatever you're selling, we don't want none of it." I figured my plan had already gone so well, I might as well stick to it –I blasted Warren square in the face with the pepper-spray. He dropped straight to the ground and begun clawing at his eyes like a dog.

"What are you do– I'm going to call the cops!" Shrieked Lacey.

"I am the cops." I snapped back, trying not to smirk with delight of saying something intelligent. Heh. If only Ranger were here to witness these one-liners. He'd be proud. But unlike when Ranger delivers his lines, everyone was still looking at me in confusion. I sighed and elaborated sulkily; Ranger would never have to explain himself further. "Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter. You all failed to appear for your court date – care to explain?"

Hans answered me begrudgingly after several minutes of awkward silence, "Vhen ve vere in jail ve all got talking. Varren had de biggest vide-screen TV in de Burg, und some of de best racing games, so he invited us over. And den you came und crashed de party." I bit my bottom lip to refrain from laughing – the guy sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger in _Terminator_.

"Warren organized a party the day you were supposed to show up in court?"

"Vell ja, he only rented Grand Theft Auto for a veek, und it vas due back dis morning." Uh-huh. Their stupidity was my gain. I just wish I didn't have to gain them at odd and early hours of the morning.

"Anyone else care to add a comment?" They all shook their heads mutely. "Right. Now all of you are going to follow me to my car, without complaint, and I'm going to get you re-bonded." I herded them to the car like sheep, keeping my pepper-spray out-stretched.

I'm willing to admit Lula might be right about my car. It was nice and small and sporty, but when you're trying to cram in one unconscious and a few other hostile FTA's, the VW Bug starts to look a little like a clown car.

Eddie was out the front of the police station, sneaking a doughnut when I pulled into the car park.

"Nice car. I don't imagine it has a lot of leg room. Or FTA room, for that matter. " He smiled. I ignored him and flounced to the backseat of my car. I pulled open the door and Warren rolled out, followed by the rest of the sorry bunch. It did look a bit like a circus comedy routine.

"Busy morning?" Eddie tried to keep a straight face as he heaved Warren up by his armpits and dragged him into the station. I shepparded the rest in while Eddie filed the paperwork, issuing each person through the grey door to have their mug-shot retaken. Usually Vinnie would be present to bond them out straight away, but if Vinnie wanted to keep his head on his shoulders he'd be cowering behind his couch at the moment.

"Uh-oh." Eddie said.

"What uh-oh?"

"She's not on file." Eddie jerked his thumb towards a smug-looking blonde with ratty, frizzy hair. Apparently during my early morning raid of Warren's party-house I'd picked up a stray that wasn't FTA.

"Right then, you're free to go." I told her, trying to push her out of the door.

"The hell I am!" She whined in a voice that sounded like fingernails across a blackboard. My ears felt like they were bleeding. "You kidnapped me in your stupid pink car, assaulted me, threatened me with pepper-spray and stuffed me in a car with known dangerous criminals. I am traumatized." And then she uttered the words that can strike fear even the most toughed policeman or bounty hunter. "I'm suing!" She screeched. Eddie backed away from me like I was carrying the plague.

"Now really. It was just a case of mistaken identity." I pleaded. "How about I make it up to you and we go for some lunch?" She wasn't buying it.

"You'll be seeing my lawyer. I'm going to the police. Wait, I'm already at the police station. You!" She pointed at Eddie. "I'd like to press charges on that there criminally insane, criminally irresponsible and criminally dangerous criminal." I looked around and realised she was pointing at me. Eddie looked pained, tossing up between his career or helping Morelli's girlfriend and his good friend. He was spared from his decision by the police chief storming down the stairs.

"What the hell is going on here!" He bellowed. Eddie went to speak, but the blonde got there first.

"I'd like to press charges."

The chief didn't skip a beat. After all, he heard that phrase every day. "Against?" He asked.

"Her." The blonde's tacky, chipped scarlet nail pointed directly at my chest.

* * *

**How will Steph survive in lock-up? Who will save her? Morelli? Eddie? Ranger (even though he's not in the country. That man can work miracles though, so don't put it past him)? Lula? Another person? Hmmmm. And possible explosions in the next chapter, if people are nice and review. **


	6. Prison Break

**Many thanks to all who reviewed! Yay! Especially those who suggested potential Steph rescuers. Specifically, this chapter is for ****zutarakid50, who gave me many ideas and suggestions, which broke my writer's block for this chapter. Sorry though, no Grandma Bella :) I wouldn't mind some ideas for the next chapter (hint hint). No biggie if you guys come up blank though; I have a vague idea what direction to take this in. Either way…**

**Previously:  
**"_I'd like to press charges."  
__The chief didn't skip a beat. "Against?"  
_"_Her." Her tacky, chipped scarlet nail pointed directly at my chest._

One hour later I was an official criminal. I was sitting in a cold, hard cell. Eddie had spared me the indignity of a strip search, and allowed me to keep my Docs shoe-laces, but I still had a criminal record. I was officially the scum of society. A tear ran down my face. What was worse, my mug-shot was horrible. I should have worn makeup this morning. Or at least brushed my hair.

Eddie disappeared on an errand for me, giving my body receipts to Connie so I'd at least get paid for my horrible morning. He came back half-an-hour later, and I was already bouncing off the walls in boredom. I was going stir crazy. Hell, I go stir crazy when I'm kidnapped by crazies and about to be murdered. Anyone else would rather delay the experience, but after ten minutes cooped up, I'd rather face the barrel of a gun.

"Joe's doing everything he can to get you out." Eddie sympathetically passed me a Boston Cream through the bars. "But the Chief's having none of it. A report recently came down from Head Office, and we need to run a tighter ship in Trenton. There's word of crooked cops, gang warfare, evidence going AWOL, confiscated contraband making it's way back on the market, and admin overlooking certain cases that shouldn't be overlooked. The Chief's got the Big Kahuna breathing down his neck, so he's not letting Morelli have your case due to conflict of interest."

After a few minutes Eddie reluctantly told me he had to get back up to his office and actually do some police work. He promised he'd check on me after his shift ended and buy me some take-out for dinner. I didn't think I could last as long as dinner.

Moments after Eddie had disappeared up the internal stairwell, I could hear the swiping of a security clearance card and the beeping of a PIN code being entered from the external door that backed onto the car-park. There were few people that had access to the police holding cells. Cops, bailsmen and bounty hunters. Ranger was a bounty hunter. Ranger was also half-way across the world. But then again, Ranger was Batman. What couldn't Batman do if he put his mind to it? I couldn't poke my head through the bars to see who it was, so I had to wait until they stood straight in front of me.

"Vinnie?" I choked in astonishment. Okay, not exactly my dark knight in shining armour. More like an annoyance in cheap suits and fake Italian loafers. "You're risking your life to bond me out?" The family bond must be stronger than I thought. Vinnie just laughed long and loud.

"Like I'd be coming to bust your sorry hide out of jail. I'm risking my life to see you behind bars." He flipped opened up his cell phone and snapped a picture. "And I'm not letting you out; you'd go FTA immediately. And although Lula might be persuaded to take your case for a dozen doughnuts, Ranger's not. He'll hunt your bounty for different reasons." A red film descended over my eyes and my ears started ringing.

"I can't believe Connie and Lula bothered to save your hide this morning. Just wait until I get out of here!"

"I don't think I'll have to worry for a while." Vinnie sniggered, swaggering towards the exit. He's done what he came to do. He came, he saw, he gloated.

"I hope that crazy gun person gets you! You can't leave me here: it's bad Karma." I make several wild obscene gestures at his retreating back. And that's when Karma got him. It must have been a slow day for Karma or something, because it acted almost immediately. Or maybe the crazy gun guy had taken my words to heart.

Vinnie was holding the security coded door open as he took one last look at me. He propped the door open with his foot to make several retaliatory gestures of his own when an on-coming semi-trailer decided to take a detour off the highway and straight through the police station. I couldn't see the driver, but I was guessing crazy gun guy was behind the wheel and had decided to up the ante. I'm not sure about police protocol, but I'm pretty sure that semi just earned itself a ticket.

The truck rumbled straight through the door Vinnie was holding open. I didn't see what happened to Vinnie, because the truck looming large in front of me, taking up a lot of space. I also realised it was also on fire. The first few holding cells closest to the door were completely demolished. I could feel my own solid concrete walls tremor and I dove under my bed. My bed was nothing more than a plank of wood jutting out of the wall, but as I said before, Plums are good at denial. If I closed my eyes I could almost make-believe I was at home, curled up under my doona.

There was a loud 'pop' and then the semi-trailer cabin exploded. Air whooshed out of the tyres, the cabin glass shattered and tinkled down like rain on the concrete floors. The room smelled like burning rubber and hot asphalt. The sounds reverberated around the empty holding cells. I placed my hands over my ears and in surprise drew them away when I felt the wetness. There was blood over my palms. I thought I must have cut my head, but as I explored my hairline, I couldn't feel anything. I felt remarkably calm, and I put that down to the fact the semi trailer must have stopped exploding because everything was quiet again. Then I realised something – it wasn't that the truck had stopped exploding - I couldn't hear anything. It was my ears that were bleeding, not my head. The explosion had deafened me. I began to sob uncontrollably – I didn't want to be deaf. I would spend my whole life like my old Nonna, barking "Eh?! Speak up child!" whenever someone asked me a question. I'd have to wear a hearing aide. Joyce would be able to call me all sorts of nasty names to my face and I wouldn't be able to understand her. I begun to sob harder.

It was then that a pair of arms appeared from out of the swirling cement-dust and grabbed me by my waist, scooping me out from under the bed and holding me firmly to them. I blinked through my tears and saw the black shirt and the Range-man logo. I peered up and saw Ranger's concerned face. His mouth opened to reassure me, but I couldn't hear his words. It was like playing an action movie on muted sound. One of my solid cement walls had fractures and chunks missing, showing the wire framework underneath. My prison bars were crumpled like an accordion from the shifting walls. Still holding me, Ranger kicked them off their weakened hinges without hesitation and plowed on. I looked around what was left of the holding cells as Ranger strode over the debris. The blackened shell of the semi-cab took up most of the room. One side of it had been crushed by a fallen cement wall. I hadn't even heard it fall, but I did remember feeling the juddering impact. Steel bars and grills were thrown around the room, as were great clumps of cement with electrical wires criss-crossing underfoot. Cement dust clung to Ranger's hair, turning it white, while thick black smoke dirtied the gray floor and walls. The smell of burnt rubber and the remaining heat from the blast blistered the air.

We crossed the road, where it seemed the rest of the police force and half of the Burg had gathered. Ranger set me down on the edge of the crowd. He held me gently by the shoulders, looking me up and down. His forehead was creased in worry, but he managed a small smile when he came to my face.

"Ohmigod – my eyebrows." I shrieked aloud. My hand flew up to my eyebrows, and then tentatively explored my hair. Ranger chuckled. It sounded far off and distant, but I could hear him. There was a ringing and buzzing in my ears as well, but over it I could make out the wail of far off sirens, and the groaning and creaking of the half-demolished police headquarters. Ranger wiped away the little trickle of blood from my ears that was slowly rolling down my cheek. He leant in and whispered, "Tinnitus. Noise deafness– it's only temporary Babe. You'll get your hearing back in a few hours." I folded my arms over my chest. I still didn't like it. Ranger took a step away from me as Lula hustled her way through the crowd. She speared through the crowd as ruthlessly as a speedboat cutting through still water. Grandma Mazzur followed close behind in Lula's wake.

They were both dressed like characters out of the Blues Brothers, in dark suits, dark sun-glasses, ties and jazz hats. Lula, true to form, had bought her suit several sizes too small. Despite the amount of butt, belly and boobs being covered by the conservative fabric, she still looked like a 'ho in pint-stripes. Incidentally, the stripes did nothing for her curvaceous figure. Grandma's suit made her look like she was hosting some kind of day-time talk show for the elderly. I could see a bulk packet of cigarettes bulging conspicuously from her front pocket.

"We're coming to bust your ass out, old school style." Lula explained to me as she drew nearer. I felt loved. Lula had never previously so much as park in the same street as the police station, let alone contemplate going inside it. She and Grandma turned to look at the lopsided police station, still smoking and smoldering. The semi's trailer jack-knifed out of the building, its back wheels still resting on the road.

"But it seems you've already busted yourself out." Grandma conceded. "You couldn't have waited a few minutes for us? I spent my whole week's pension on this get-up." She wiggled her sunglasses at me and straightened her tie. "At least I look like John Belushi." Between her fuzzy candy-floss hair and crayon makeup, I didn't have the heart to tell her she looked like a well-dressed clown who had fallen on hard times.

Morelli muscled his way through the crowd next. Ranger was still standing on one side of me. He disappeared like smoke, and Morelli filled his place by my side. We all started at the burning building for some moments, awed. Morelli eventually let out a low whistle. "I was only joking this morning when I said I wanted you to blow up my work. I meant you could do it when I wasn't in the building."

"I didn't blow anything up." I huffed. "At least, not on purpose. Besides, even if I did blow it up on purpose, you deserved it."  
"What?"  
"You're a cop and you couldn't even manage to bail your sometimes-girlfriend out of jail."

It was Morelli's turn to yell and wave his arms around. "I was one floor up, cutting through all the red tape and crap, convincing the Chief to drop all your charges, trying to rescue you. And then the next thing I know, you blew up the entire building! You couldn't have waited a few more hours until I _legally_ and _safely_ bailed you out! No! Just so you know, that's not going to sit well on your permanent record. As some inside advice, cops hate it when you blow them up."

"I didn't blow up anyone up Joe! I was sitting in my cell, minding my own business when a semi-trailer decided to personally re-route the M11."

Lula butted in. "Yeah, but what you have is some sort of magnetic force that just attracts trouble." She offered. "You should have a hazard sign or something. Your problem is trouble thinks you're sexy. That poor semi had no chance in hell; it was just driving down the street and it got sucked into your magnetic force-field."

"Maybe she has magical powers like Parry Hottie." Grandma piped up.  
"You mean Harry Potter." I corrected.  
"I've seen the movie." Grandma snapped. "And that kid's definitely a hottie."  
"Yeah," Lula agreed, nodding vehemently. Whether she was agreeing about my trouble-magnetism or Harry Potter, I don't know. Lula's sun-glasses slid several inches down her nose. She thrust them up into her hair, where they were quickly engulfed by her current afro-frizz. "Girl, you can blow shit up when you get pissed off. That's magic."

"Great," groaned Morelli. "And everyone's afraid of my Grandma Bella giving them the eye. This is worse –my sometimes girl-friend has the power to blow things up when they piss her off! First Pinos, then the police station!" Morelli was interrupted by Ranger's return. Ranger placed his hand at the back of my neck, his fingers lightly tracing patterns at the top of my spine, sending shivers right through me.

"The truck crash and explosion was no accident." He murmured.


	7. Repeat Offender

_Morelli was interrupted by Ranger's return.  
_"_The truck crash and explosion was no accident." He murmured. _

Grandma and Lula stopped their bickering and gave Ranger their full attention.

"I noticed something out of place when I went in to get Steph, but I couldn't be sure. I just confirmed it after speaking to the Fire Warden. The semi was rigged with explosives, set to go off on impact." I swayed on my feet. Morelli went white and dead still. A muscle worked in his jaw and twitched at his temple. He hates when people deliberately try to blow me up. Accidents and semi-trailers he can handle. Pre-meditated murder he's not so good with. Morelli strode off in the direction of the Fire Marshall and the Police Chief. Ranger moved into the unoccupied place.

"Just going to make a few phone-calls, Babe," he explained, leaning in low over my shoulder and whispering in my ear. I almost spontaneously combusted, as well broke into goosebumps at the same time. I should go deaf more often.

The crowd started to disperse. The cops, having no office to retreat to, caught a lift with the fire-men and took the rest of the day off. But it looked like the Police and Fire Chief, as well as several other important uniforms were in for a long day. Morelli emerged as the last fire engine pulled away from the smouldering wreckage.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Ranger was right." Morelli conceded. "That semi was rigged to go off with more bang than fireworks on News Years Eve." We both surveyed the ruined police station in front of us.  
"I've seen bigger." I finally admitted.  
"Cupcake, I know you have."  
"Ok, what are we talking about here?"  
"I thought we were talking about me." Morelli offered, slightly offended. "But I take it you were referring to the explosion."  
"Yes." I hissed through my teeth. God, Morelli and his one-track mind. "I'm still preoccupied with the explosion that almost killed me. Tell me more about it." Morelli sighed and his mouth tightened: he was in cop-mode again. I realised for all his earlier insensitive jokes, he had been avoiding the topic.

"Well, as you said, the explosion the semi caused was relatively minor. In fact, most of the structural damage the truck inflicted on the building was because of the force of its momentum, rather than the ensuing explosion. The explosion that occurred was limited to the front cabin of the semi-trailer. But when the fire-crew examined the rest of the vehicle to ensure it was of no further risk, they discovered the trailers the semi was towing were full of explosives." I looked at the semi again, one of the trailers still visible, it's back wheels resting on the sidewalk by the roadside. I swayed for several moments. Three trailers, full of explosives…if they had gone off…I'd definitely be dead. Joe would be dead. Half of the block would be dead. I shuddered.

"Not a pretty thought." Joe read my mind. "My speculation so far is that the cabin explosion was targeted at you." A small muscle worked at his jaw, but Morelli didn't break from his cop-mode. He continued without any emotion straying into his voice. "After the cabin exploded and killed you, it was meant to trigger the remaining arsenal that would blow up the police station, and with it, most of Trenton. The only reason the bomb didn't detonate was that one of the holding cell's solid cement walls had fallen on top of it. We haven't had time to analyse the bomb sufficiently, but it's pretty evident the only reason we're standing here right now is the concrete wall severed the wire connection that was supposed to detonate the rest of the explosives. So the cabin fire burnt itself out, and the concrete acted as a barrier that prevented the rest of the big kablooey."

We stood in silence, digesting how much worse everything could have been.

"So who did it?" I finally asked.  
Morelli shoved his hands in his pockets. "Don't know."  
"Why did they do it?"  
"Don't know yet."

We were silent for a few more minutes.  
"The amazing thing is," Morelli thought out-loud, "just look at all this carnage: explosions, bombs, semi-trailers. But no-one was killed, or even seriously injured."  
"I can think of one person." And I definitely wasn't sorry they were dead. "Vinnie."  
Morelli looked surprised. "Your cousin? He was bailing you out?"  
"No, he was paying me out: he came to gloat."  
"And he ended up road-kill." Morelli concluded. Morelli turned from observing the wreckage, his tone turning more serious.

"Cupcake, this is by far the worse thing you have ever been involved in, and for all my jokes, when I looked out that window and saw the semi heading towards the holding cells, I thought you were dead." He had been trying to keep his emotions down, but his voice cracked with the effort.

"Really? You didn't look that worried when I saw you." I said off-handedly.

In reply Morelli hooked a finger in my shirt's v-neck and reeled me closer. He spent the next few minutes showing me just how concerned he'd actually been.

"Jesus Joe." I gasped when it ended, trying to regain my breath and get some control over my heart-beat. A few more seconds of that and I would have died and gone to heaven.

"You know," he grinned wolfishly, running a finger around the scoop of my shirt, "Seeing as somehow my office burnt down today, I think I have the day off work. I'm going to need something to occupy my time."

"Who says that just because you have the day off means that I do too?" I teased. I thought about the body receipts for all my FTAs. Eddie had already run them down to Connie for me. I hope.

"Cupcake, I think you deserve the day off, don't you?" If he'd stopped there, we'd have been fine. But Morelli had to throw in another joke. "Besides, your employer is dead, so I'd say you're out of a job."

The warm fuzzy feeling Morelli had been creating suddenly evaporated. I narrowed my eyes and took a step back from him. "Is that why you're happy Vinnie's dead – so I lose my job?" I challenged.

"Steph, your so-called job almost got you and me killed, not to mention half of the city's police-men." I crossed my arms and Morelli blew out a sigh. "Listen Steph, the police Chief thinks this bombing may have something to do with the Constanovich case. It could be retaliation against the new way the station's being run after Head Office was involved. Perhaps there are some crooked dealings going on that someone wants hushed up and destroy all evidence. We're not sure, but just in case, everyone involved in the Constanovich case has been immediately taken off it, except me, because I'm running it. They're moving me and the case up to New York as a safety precaution, and I think it would be a good idea if you come too. It may not have been an accident the semi was targeted at the holding cells, although the Chief is treating it as a co-incidence because you were only recently charged and detained at the station."

I thought of my job, my–possibly-non-existent-job. Joe's offer was very tempting. But then I thought of all the bills piling up under my doormat and in my kitchen fruit-bowl. I had to make rent in one week, and I wasn't sure if my recent FTA captures would cover my rent and electricity. Or my recent shopping splurge.

"I don't think that would really work Joe."  
Joe completely threw me with his next change of tack. "It's because Ranger's back, isn't it? If this had happened yesterday you'd be on a plane with me to New York right now."  
I hadn't realized he saw Ranger as that much of a threat, and tried to convert him to my point of view. "If I went with you, what would you be doing all day?"

"Working." Joe answered.  
"Would you be home at five?"  
There was a pause. "Probably not." I shot him a look and he screwed up his face. "Okay, no, I'd probably be working long hours on this case."  
"Would I see you at all?"  
Joe blew out a sigh. "Sometimes." He was getting my point.  
"And what would I be doing all day, apart from killing time until you stagger in at one in the morning?  
"You'd stay inside the apartment, under closed-circuit TV."  
"Could I go shopping?"  
"No. Too dangerous."

"So you expect me to drop my work and follow you to New York, where I won't see you at all and won't even be able to do some decent shopping, and then go back to Trenton to find I haven't got a car, a house, or a job?"  
"Stephanie, let's face it, it's probably for the best that you lose this job." As always, this came down to my job.  
"It's the only job I've held onto for any amount of time."  
"Stephanie, we wouldn't be in this mess if you didn't have this job!"  
"Crime happens Joe. You can't pin all the bad shit that bad people do on me. I didn't make them drive a semi into your building and blow up half of the ground floor."

"Steph, that's not the point." This conversation was no longer an argument about me staying in Trenton. In Joe's mind my job represented Ranger. I think it had for a while, but I'd never realised it. And now Trenton also represented Ranger. If I stayed in Trenton and kept doing my job, I would be choosing Ranger over Joe.

"No, Joe, the point has been made. If I came with you to New York, it just wouldn't work. I wouldn't even see you, and I'd drive you crazy. You've already admitted as much. You can blame my job, you can blame your job, you can blame Ranger as much as you like, that's just hiding the underlying issue. We both know it wouldn't be a good idea if I came with you to New York."

I was speaking calmly about this, like I'd had days to think it through. I knew Joe and I knew myself; going to New York with him would not help him or us in any way. Joe looked like he could barely control himself. Finally he stated blankly,

"We'll work this out when I get back."  
.

* * *

.  
I sighed as soon as I sunk into the seat of my Bug. I punched in Linken Park because of my angry mood and fishtailed down the road. When I got home my answering machine was blinking furiously, which did nothing for my temper. On a normal day I'd be happy to get phone calls, but on a day like today, where I was arrested and a building blew up, I knew the sorts of phone messages I'd be receiving. I reluctantly punched the play-back button. 

"Stephanie? It's your mother. I heard Pino's almost burnt down last night, but Mabel was up with her incontinence problem this morning and saw you driving down the street early today. She said it couldn't possibly have been you that blew up Pinos because it looked like you had both your eyebrows. But I don't trust her eye-sight. Just let me know if you did blow up Pino's so I can begin fielding calls from the neighbours and draw the curtains." I sighed and deleted the message. The next one was from Grandma, who sounded breathlessly excited, as opposed to my mother's long-suffering tone.

"Hullo Stephanie!" Grandma trilled, "I was getting my hair permed this morning and Sascha Banks told me you'd been put in the clinker. I haven't told your mother yet, but I've hidden the iron just in case. Just as soon as I get my pension I'm going down to the store to buy you some cigarettes so you can bribe the guards, as long as you promise to show me your prison tatts when you get out. And don't worry about a thing: apparently those types what swing the other way don't like the skinny ones, so you should be fine. I'll try to stay alive long enough to see you paroled."

Mum had phoned again, her voice becoming more and more hysterical. "Stephanie, where's the iron? Your father's decided he's taking the Taxi out for some work today and I need to iron his uniform. NOW. I need to iron it _right_ _now_." There was the sound of liquid being generously poured into a glass, a gulping sound and a deep breath followed by a small burp. "Never mind. _Hic."_

Grandma Mazzur left the next message on my phone, several hours after her first message. I could hear pings and gunshots in the background and I recognized the movie that was playing. It sounded like Dirty Harry, or Lethal Weapon. "Stephanie – Lula and I were just watching some cop movies for inspiration. We think we've got a good idea of how to bust you out. I tried to convince your mother to cook a cake with a file in it, but she said it would ruin her oven. Lula and I are coming down to the police station now. Just as soon as we watch the series final of Prison Break."

The last was from Morelli's Grandma Bella, just moments ago. I had missed her by minutes. Perhaps there is a God after all.

"Stephanie Plum!" Her voice caused the hairs on my neck to stand at attention. "You and your immoral ways have broken my innocent Joseph's heart too many times. First you refuse him marriage and babies, and now you throw him away like yesterday's newspaper. When I see you next, I am putting the eye on you and the rest of your family. You will never find love again. I would put the eye on you right now, but I cannot do that over the phone." Yikes. Another person to avoid.

I hung up the phone just as it rang again. Fearing Grandma Bella's wrath, I answered evasively.

"Yes?"

"Distraction job for you, Babe. You sound like you need distracting." Ranger was brief and to-the-point as he always was. For once, I wished he'd offer a little bit more of himself. After all, he still didn't trust me enough near Bat-Cave, yet I had him scaling my fire-escape and breaking into my bathroom to rescue me in all my nude glory, when I'd only just met him.

"And where were you when I needed you?!" I asked peevishly, rounding on Ranger to take out my guilt over Joe.  
Ranger sighed patiently. "I told you, making some calls. I figured me showing up when you and Morelli were having your little tiff would only fuel the flames."  
"So you heard that?" I was sheepish.  
"I was only in the next suburb." I could hear his grin over the phone. "And Babe, when you need me, I'll be there." My stomach gave a little flip and I felt a rush of blood to my head. Amongst other places.

I went to bed shortly after, tired, annoyed and frustrated. I hoped tomorrow would be nicer to me than today had been.

* * *

**Well. Well well well. It's hard to keep both the Cupcake and Babe fans happy, but next chapter I think Ranger deserves some Steph time. And this story deserves some more captures, take-downs and bad-guys. So, next chapter: The Distraction Job.**


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